But she did as she was told. Oswald has taught her this. Next day her fears had stopped, like silent watches in the night, and we began to make a trap for badgers--in case we ever found one. But Dicky went to the top of the mill with some field-glasses he had borrowed from Mr. Carrington to look at distant ships with, and he burst into the busy circle of badger-trap makers, and said: 'I say, come and look! There's a fire in the marsh!' 'There!' said Alice, dropping the wire pliers on her good elder brother's foot. 'What did I tell you?' We all tore to the top of the mill, and sure enough, far across the sunny green marshes rose a little cloud of smoke, and blue and yellow flames leaped out every now and then. We all took turns to look through the glasses. Then Oswald said: 'This is no time for looking through field-glasses with your mouths open. We must go and help. We might fetch the fire-engines or something. The bikes, Dicky!' Almost instantly we were in the saddle and tearing along the level marsh towards the direction of the fire. At first we got down at every crossroad and used the field-glasses to see which way to go; but as we got nearer, or the fire got bigger, or perhaps both, we could see it quite plainly with the naked eye. It was much further off than we had thought, but we rode on undaunted, regardless of fatigue and of dinner-time, being now long gone by. We got to the fire at last. It was at Crown Ovender Farm, and we had to lift the bikes over fences and wheel them over ploughed fields to get there, because we did not know the right way by road. Crown Ovender is a little farmhouse, and a barn opposite, and a great rick-yard, and two of the ricks were alight. They smoked horribly, and the wind blew the hot smoke into your eyes, and every now and then you saw great flames--yards long they seemed--leap out as if they were crying to get to the house. We had put our bikes in a ditch a field away, and now we went all round about to ask if we could help; but there wasn't a soul to be seen. We did not know what to do. Even Oswald--always full of resource--almost scratched his head, which seems to help some people to think, though I don't think it ever would me, besides not looking nice. 'I wish we'd told them in the village,' said Dicky. We had not done this, and the reason, the author is ashamed to say, was because we wanted to get there before anyone else. This was very selfish, and the author has often regretted it. The flames were growing larger and fiercer, and the tar on the side of the barn next the rick-yard was melting and running down like treacle. 'There's a well!' said Dicky suddenly. 'It isn't a deep well, and there are two buckets.'